"With all due respect, Viscount Trifon, I would advise against that."
The expectant faces of the Mayor and his daughter crumbled as they heard Tomislav's words.
"I have already commanded. How dare you speak against that?"
Trifon was instantly outraged and stood up, throwing off the beauty on his lap. None dared to go against his wishes and yet a mere nobody had questioned his decision? The term Viscount wasn't empty but a Rank, bestowed by the RECORD.
Trifon took a step towards the calm-faced Tomislav, but a hand reached out from behind him and held down his shoulder.
"Sit down, Trifon! Let him speak."
This hand belonged to a middle-aged man with black hair and a light beard. One could see the traces of strands of white hair here and there, only if someone dared to stare at him for long to notice them. His clothing was the same as that of the young Viscount, yet not nearly white as that of him.
